


take me to shore.

by venkyre



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:22:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venkyre/pseuds/venkyre
Summary: He didn't think he'd be able to climb into a Jaeger again.He didn't think he'd be able to keep her safe, again.





	take me to shore.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Broken Glass, No Reflection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827753) by [chasexjackson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasexjackson/pseuds/chasexjackson), [flyingcrowbar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcrowbar/pseuds/flyingcrowbar). 



> If there's one thing I love, it's Pacific Rim/PJO fics. I love this universe so damn much, especially for the Olympians. If anyone wants me to write another crossover, ask! I'd honestly love to. Heavily inspired off "Broken Glass, No Reflections" by @chasexjackson and @flyingcrowbar. Check it out, it's pretty awesome. 
> 
> Enough rambling, enjoy?

Just looking at it makes his lungs burn. 

 

They kept it. Strewn up on the metal poles of a museum. “A historic piece of true history!” It had been branded in the newspapers like that. Branded as an antique. Old history.

 

So why was he here now?

 

The shatterdome is high above his shoulders. His eyes linger on adjustments, advancements and upcoming projects littering the same familiar hall that he’s trudged on before. Their are good memories. He didn’t realize he’d remember. But he still remembers, despite it all. People are staring, he can tell. He doesn’t exactly know if they’re afraid, or awestruck. And frankly, he doesn’t give a fuck because he doesn’t want to be here, doing this. 

 

“Percy?” He snaps out of it, rattling out a breath and plastering a coy smile onto his features, trying to seem at ease. He doesn’t understand why they’re going over the procedures, he’s done this before. Practically  _ bred _ for this. He’s spent seven in the seat of that Jaeger and he’ll be damned if they can teach him something he doesn’t already know. His gaze finds itself redirected onto the thing that he used to love. The Jaeger that fit his features like a second skin, worn and weathered. He remembers the shudder of the seat, the lurch and vibration of the engine spurring on. He remembers the feeling of the Khaiju, battering into his side, the strangled noise of his partner, the blood marring his face as he feels his lungs constrict and he’s choking on his own blood, it hurts and he’s blacking out before -

 

It’s too much for him to really comprehend. 

 

_ Vatican Mark III.  _

 

Despite the ‘III’, it looks fairly the same. Dark concord purple metal planes, dualed with a sharp oceanic navy. Yellow flairs across the machine like mangled veins, thrumming with energy. A sharp dagger is wedged into the hand of the machine, and he can see the thrusters and reactors faintly glinting under the flourescent light. His fingers skim the cold metal, and his eyes flutter shut. He can hear the white noise of Leo and Frank die out as he presses his forehead against the cool metal. He breathes in the scent of shrapnel and sulfur and he swears to god he might just let his composure slip there.

 

He’s just about ready to zone out there and feel the familiar numbness wash onto his back and whisper his weaknesses into his ear. He’s ready to  _ submit  _ to this feeling, just as he had before time and time again. 

 

It’s the sharp clicking of heels that tears him out of his self pity. Anger boils in his nerves and he wants to turn around and bite back a scathing reply to a person as ignorant enough to wear bloody heels here. The shatterdome was a place of battle, suffering, pain. How could someone prattle around on dainty little glass slippers in a place that reflected torment? Percy’s just about had it because he’s just about had it and he turns around ready to snarl out a hiss but the retort dies in his throat. 

 

Annabeth Chase, in a sharp pencil skirt, blouse tucked firmly into it with her legs cladded in dark wine colored stilettos. Her face is twisted into an annoyed grimace, biting out words to Leo, clearly agitated. She’s kicking off the heels, pulling off the blouse and skirt only to rip at her leggings, shedding it as if it’s a skin she’s been forced to slather on. Her hair is freed from the neat bun and her curls are fastened into a high ponytail. She’s stepping into navy sweatpants and a tank top, so uncaring that she’s practically stripping in front of a mass of people. Percy almost wants to smile, the familiarity of her eased, uncaring self almost comforting.

 

But he doesn’t. He straightens his shoulders as she turns back, now catching his eyes. Sea green meets sterling silver. Her gaze is flickering, a storm of uncertainty, wariness, and much to his dismay, fear. He’s learnt to read her pretty well. She’s the opposite of him, loose and languid, her body seeming relaxed as she huffs almost childishly at Frank, and on the outside, she isn’t as composed as she portrays. Her hands are wringing out and he could see the tremor she carries in her posture. Her shoulders are a bit too firmly set to really be relaxed. 

 

Her posture becomes hostile, lips pursing and her eyes blazing. Annabeth knows that he  _ knows  _ her. Everything about her. From her favorite color all the way to the way she likes her chai lattes in the morning. She knows that he can see through this facade. She hates it, being vulnerable and exposed. But her barriers can’t hide from him, he tore those down years ago.

 

After all, you don’t find yourself engaged to a person you don’t exactly know. Percy bites his tongue, his hands being the ones to shake now. He hasn’t seen her in what, years? He remembers the news headlines, the famous copilot Chase finding a new Drift partner. At first he was oddly, jealous. Jealous that someone would have the same connection he had to her. But of course, no one ever was deemed compatible. She instead took a desk job, grading the written tests it took to get within the ranks. With his departure, her entire career and passion was ripped away in a matter of seconds. All because he left.

 

“Jackson.” Her words are leisured, as if practiced to be as curt as possible. “Long time no see, it’s been awhile.” Annabeth cracks her knuckles, silver eyes taunting him to challenge her. The way she moves is predatory, lithe and precise. Percy swallows down the bile in his throat as she sees her bare ring finger, wondering how the hell it really got to this.

 

_ She isn’t yours. You aren’t drift compatible, now. This is a one time thing. It won’t work, not again. Not after what happened. _

 

“Chase.” He jerks his head in acknowledgement, climbing into the husk of the Vatican. His throat is closing up and his veins are searing with anxiety. This isn’t the time to pine. He’s here for this, to prove that whatever they had is gone. 

 

They’re both entering the small space, Annabeth strapping herself in wordlessly. The movement of her hands are so much more violent now, and he can see the visible pain in her expression. She’s trying to keep herself strong, shielding her weaknesses from him. He exhales, sharply grabbing her wrist. Annabeth’s head whips around, meeting his and she’s going to ground out a curse and ramble about how she’s fine, and that she doesn’t need his help. So he cuts her off.

 

“I’m going to be in your head.” Percy’s voice is steady, jaw clenching. “There’s no need to pretend we don’t know each other, wise girl.” He helps her, adjusting the strap before doing his own. She’s struggling with what to say, but it doesn’t matter. It’s time.

 

He can hear Jason on the comm, asking if they’re ready. 

 

He isn’t ready. But he hears Annabeth’s confirmation and follows.

 

Before Percy can change his mind, he’s in.

 

It’s the sensation of the familiar tug in his thoughts that makes him really remember. He’s falling, and before he knows it he’s chasing after memories. It’s Annabeth’s father, the memory of him sketching the first drafts of the shatterdome with the curly haired blonde girl on his lap, it switches to her graduating the academy with Luke and Thalia, her white smile stretched so wide as she posed for a picture, it’s now at when they first sparred, and Percy sees himself grunting as he hits the ground with her hands clasped around his neck. He’s seen this all before. And he knows she’s holding back.

 

He doesn’t see her screaming into the comm of Luke and Thalia’s jaeger as the Khaiju uses the own dagger of the robot to penetrate the machine. He doesn’t see her sharp posture at her father’s funeral. Every dark memory was carefully, and his head throbs because he’s missing the memories, the important ones.  _ And it’s all his fault. _

 

He didn’t really mean to slip into that memory, but he couldn’t stop it.

He’s been reliving that moment for months. Every nightmare, every waking thought.

 

_ “Wildflower? That’s exotic. I ought to make that my stripper name.” It’s Annabeth, and her eyes are rolling with faux annoyance. Wildflower was the name of the Khaiju they were up against, a navy creature with slicked patterns of cool colors layered around its back. It basically resembled a komodo dragon, with flared gills that bristled in agitation. They’re in front of the wall, mechanics buzzing around them as they tread in the atlantic’s waves. Percy can’t help but snort, turning to his side. _

 

_ “Are you sure there’s a signature here? I don’t see anything, Jason.” It’s an annoyed groan, arms swinging around to try and catch sight of the beast. They’ve never been smart enough to ‘hide.’ He should’ve felt something, the impending sense of doom or fear. But before he knows it, pain is marring his vision and his lungs, they’re curling up and screaming in his chest along with his own voice. He can hear his comm dying out and it’s his side, it feels like someone’s ripped into his flesh and torn out his ribs. His initial reaction is reaching Annabeth through the drift, his mental link reaching hers as a hand to hold for support. _

 

_ She can’t feel her. _

 

_ “Annabeth!” His vision is regaining strength, and the white in his gaze is dwindling. His breath catches in his throat. Her head is hanging limply, a gaping hole filling the side of their Jaeger. His mind is frantic, hoarsely screaming her name, begging her to say something, anything. He feels the Khaiju leap onto his back, forcing the machine onto his knees. The creature’s incisors are wedged into the husk and Percy can’t scream anymore. _

 

_ He has to focus. _

 

_ Annabeth’s not visibly breathing. Her blood, he can feel her pain radiate his body like flames. He wants to beg, make this stop. His head’s aching, because he can hardly think because it’s Annabeth.  _

_   
_ _ His mind only takes a second to remember the ring wedged in his pocket. _

 

_ He controls his half of the Jaeger, mind numbing. The knife wedged in the robot’s hand is heavily lifted into the scaled animal's trachea with a roar, all he can feel is the trauma in his veins, electrocuting him, his body begging him to stop, and his mind screaming at him to look at his copilot, his best friend, his fucking everything. _

 

_ He’d be damned if he didn’t get her out of this alive. _

 

_ The beast splatters against the turbulent waves, and the Jaeger falls to the ground, unable to support itself with only one functioning side. Percy can’t hear anything, his body is aching as he hauls the machine to the shore. His mind is chaotic, the flashes of his father’s face in his coffin, his badges and pilot awards pinned to his chest. Annabeth’s crestfallen face as she’s sobbing for Luke and Thalia to come back home. _

 

_ Annabeth.  _

 

_ He’s making the Jaeger crawl through the dark sea, and his mind, it’s relieving some pressure. This hasn’t happened. His dreams always portrayed the same memory, what’s changing? He wouldn’t let it change. He wouldn’t let his own mind lose her. He had to save her. He had to get them away.  _

 

“Percy. Percy stop! I’m here. I’m  _ safe.” He hears her. She’s unconscious, she can’t speak. He wants to call out to her and beg her to stay, but he’s clawing to get them to shore, the agony in his ribs dying in his throat. _

 

_ Annabeth. I won’t let you die. I won’t, not again.  _

  
  


“Percy.” 

 

_ He’s gasping, and he’s just about to dig the machine’s knuckles into the shore, but his mind is being tugged backwards and he’s fighting so hard. He won’t let her die! She can’t. He has to fight. He needs to stay here and get her to safety.  _

 

“Let go, Percy. Let me take you to shore.”  _ Her voice is so gentle, so soft. He wants to beg her to stay with him, to never leave his side. He lets the Jaeger roll onto the shore, and he submits to her words. He lets himself blackout, lets the pain consume every fibre of his skin. _

 

_ She was safe. He had her. _

 

“Percy.” His body, it’s numb now. He’s on the floor of the husk, cradled in the arms of someone. The faintest trace of strawberries linger in the air, and he allows himself to exhale, head pressing into her kneecap as he’s trying to breathe without shaking. Her hands cup his face, tracing his jaw. 

 

“Please.” He doesn’t know exactly what he’s begging for. He assumes she does, because all she does is shush him gently, carding her fingers through his hair.She leans forward, curly blonde hair tickling the sharp plane of his jaw. 

 

“I’m here. I won’t ever leave you, not again.”

 

He can finally close his eyes, and breathe.

Annabeth’s safe, and she’s here.


End file.
